


ask me to dance

by unicyclehippo



Series: Blue Girls Have The Most Fun [28]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: F/F, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:33:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22983343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unicyclehippo/pseuds/unicyclehippo
Summary: prompt: on this valentine's day, a beaujester dance
Relationships: Jester Lavorre/Beauregard Lionett
Series: Blue Girls Have The Most Fun [28]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1824289
Comments: 1
Kudos: 117





	ask me to dance

It’s still weird to be heroes. Heroes is a big word Beau would hesitate to use ordinarily, but she’s a little drunk and the word is being thrown around liberally by the townsfolk as they pour drink after drink for the Nein and insist on housing them free of charge— _only fair, since you saved the building_!—and pulling out instruments and food. Before too long, it had become an impromptu feast out here on the street, tables carried from the inn, seats and stools and pillows scattered everywhere for those wishing to sit.

There aren’t many. Beau reclines on a bench, watching, drinking, but most people are dancing. The bard is actually pretty good—a traveller as well, judging from the fine cut and make of their clothes, the hint of multi-coloured silk cravat at their throat. Human, Beau thought at first glance, but there is a delicate set to their features, an unnatural grace to their gestures, and when the night grows hot with building bonfires, they tie back their dark hair to reveal faintly pointed ears. Their lute is a beautiful thing as well, round-bellied with a slender neck, and the bard’s fingers dance over the strings as they sing and sing, pausing only to tell some tales or drink from the skin on their hip. Water, Beau guesses, since their fingers hardly ever slip.

Beau shifts to water after a short while. If they were in private, somewhere a little less exposed, she’d keep drinking but she doesn’t entirely trust these happy folk, with their open faces and cheerful…cheer.

‘A silver for your thoughts?’

Beau looks up from her cup in surprise, only to find that it is the half-elf bard slipping into the seat across from her.

‘Lotta coin to drop.’

‘Something tells me your thoughts are worth it,’ they answer smoothly, and Beau can’t help but be struck by the earnestness in their eyes, the sincere curiosity.

Fucking bards.

‘Something else is gonna tell you to mind your own business,’ she drawls.

‘Oh?’

‘My fist. I’m talking about my fist.’

‘Ah!’ The bard laughs. ‘I understand.’ They hold up their hands in surrender—long, clever fingered hands, a lute players hands. And, Beau notes with some interest, not entirely free from scars. ‘You’re one of the Mighty Nein, right? The group that fought off the monster?’

‘I thought you were minding your own business.’

‘Maybe you _are_ my business,’ the bard suggests, tilts their head just so. The smile they offer is equal parts kind, curious, and flirtatious. ‘Care to tell me what really happened?’

‘What? Gonna write a song about us?’

‘Maybe.’

‘We’d have to talk properties and royalties,’ Beau snaps, and the bard’s smile only grows.

‘Perhaps when everyone is around, then, and not intoxicated. Can I ask you something else?’

‘Can I stop you?’

‘I’d love for you to try. I've been reliably and constantly assured that I talk far too much and it’s only endearing in very - ah - _specific_ situations.’ Beau snorts. The bard winks. They continue smoothly, ‘What are you doing all the way over here? Don’t you want to celebrate? Dance?’

Beau sighs. Pours herself a water, and another for the bard, who takes it with a nod.

‘I don’t want to.’

‘I don’t believe that.’

‘I don’t care?’ Beau shoots back, and the bard laughs. ‘Why aren’t _you_ dancing?’

‘Clumsy.’

‘Liar.’

‘A nice pair we make, hmm?’

Beau lazily turns over her hand, flips them off.

‘The truth, then,’ the bard says, and rests both elbows on the table, sets their pointed chin in a delicate hand. ‘I prefer to dance with a partner.’

‘Great. Don’t think you’ll be short of one,‘ Beau tells them, flicking her eyes over the crowd of simple townsfolk. Bards—and adventurers like them—are rarely short on partners when it comes to things like this.

‘I’m picky.’

'Bad habit to have.’

‘For food, yes. For dance partners? I haven't found that the case.’ At some point in the conversation, those bright eyes had banked somewhat, grown lidded and dark, and there is no mistaking the hand the bard extends to Beau as invitation of more than one kind. ‘May I dance with you?’

Beau stares. Eyes the delicate, smiling face. The pale skin and dark hair. The neat plaits decorated with simple baubles. They look nothing like Beau’s normal type—look nothing at all like anyone she has been dreaming of recently—but the invitation, while real and warm and weighty with intent, is kind and non-demanding.

‘This better not be out of pity,’ she grunts, takes the offered hand.

And she can’t lie, not to the sudden slam of her heart when the bard smiles brightly from ear to ear, as though intensely and pleasantly surprised. Beau realises in that moment that despite the confidence, the bard hadn’t expected her to accept.

‘Likewise,’ the bard agrees. With a subtle twist of their hand, Beau’s is abruptly shifted, no longer gripping theirs like a handshake but delicately laid atop. ‘Charis.’

‘Huh?’

‘My name,’ the bard says, and stands to walk Beau around the table and out into the courtyard where most of the town is dancing. ‘It’s Charis. And yours?’

‘…Beau. _Don’t_ say it,’ she warns, seeing mischief glint in bright eyes.

‘Fine. I’ll save it.’

‘For what?’

‘A moment you find it more endearing.’

Beau barks a laugh, flushes as surprise courses through her. It’s easy, with Charis, to laugh. And to dance, and flirt. It’s easy—but it doesn’t entirely feel right, and they must feel it as well because though they keep up the light flirting and dance so well that Beau kinda feels like she’s almost flying, at some point Charis leads them to the edge of the court, close to where Beau had been seated earlier in the night, and bows over her hand. Excuses themself back to their position, takes their lute back and settles in to sing for the last portion of the night.

‘You look like you had fun.’

Beau whirls, eyes wide. ‘Jes! Hey! Uh—‘

‘They’re a good dancer, huh?’

‘Uh. Yeah. Yeah, they are.’

Jester nods a few times. Smiles wide. There’s something odd about the smile and Beau doesn’t have time to figure if it’s the play of the firelight or something else before Jester shoves a hand toward her.

Beau stares down at it, then up at her friend, whose cheeks are suddenly dark with new colour.

‘Do you—want to dance? I’m not as good as a real life _bard_ , probably, but—‘

Beau folds her fingers around Jester’s. The dancing has kicked a fever into her veins, a pounding rush that stamps in time with the beat Charis keeps with a tapping boot and a hand against the wooden belly of their instrument, magnified by the stamp of boots on stone by every whirling twirling dancer, and it urges her forward, slotting their hands together more fully. Her skin is warm and her blood feels hot like she’s been drinking whiskey all night, and all the mild fun flirtation she shared with Charis is seared away by the burst of heat in her gut as she steps close, sees Jester’s breath hitch. As she slots into place against Jester.

‘I didn’t think you liked dancing,’ Jester says over the sound of the music, rocks up onto her tiptoes so she can speak it into Beau’s ear. Her breath tickles. Beau shivers. ‘I would’ve asked you earlier,’ she says, earnest and a little chiding. Mostly earnest.

Beau turns her head slowly. She isn’t far from jester, could kiss her. Her heart thumps as the song transitions into something new, faster, louder.

The notes, the melody is familiar but she doesn’t recognise the words.

‘I wish you had,’ Beau tells her. Watches shock spark behind those most lovely of eyes, quickly followed by excitement, delight, and more, like the crack of flint followed by the spark of light.

**Author's Note:**

> hi im unicyclehippo on tumblr too, feel free to swing by & send me a prompt if you want x


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